


Amas Veritas

by orphan_account



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-11-26
Updated: 2010-11-26
Packaged: 2017-10-26 13:18:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,846
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/283638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After an unimaginable tragedy, Albus must work through the five stages of grief.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this story some time last year; it remains one of the most difficult stories I've written, but also one of the most rewarding. This version of Scorpius still makes me smile. I think I'll end up writing that epilogue one of these days.
> 
> Also, credit must go to the following online resources: _Harry Potter Lexicon_ , _Harry Potter Wikia_ , _Art Symbol's Dictionary_ , HP Fanfiction Forums, and of course ... Google Translate, for all their wonderfully inaccurate translations. Other references include the film _Practical Magic_ , St. Augustine's _The Confessions of St. Augustine_ , H.P. Lovecraft's fictional (and widely referenced) book, the _Necronomicon_ , and most importantly, Elisabeth Kübler-Ross's _On Death And Dying._

Spotted moonlight poured in through the large window at the end of the hall, dappling the ground in silver, like a forest floor. The house was dead silent, but outside the wind stirred through the tall oaks bordering the house, their branches creaking like an old harmonium.

"Be quiet," James whispered over his shoulder, pressing a forefinger to his lips. He looked comical as he tiptoed past their parent's bedroom—like a cartoon burglar, his broom slung low over his shoulder. "If Dad wakes up we're done for."

At that moment a loud snore erupted from behind the closed door, causing both brothers to jump. Albus stifled a snigger and followed close to James as they descended the staircase, each taking great care to avoid the fourth and seventh stairs—they both creaked like an old man's cough.

"That was close," Albus breathed when they reached the foyer, risking a nervous glance up at the staircase. "You reckon we're safe now?"

James expertly twisted the front-door handle as only he knew how, causing minimum noise as he opened the door. "Yeah, I reckon we're safe," he decided. "As long as we're back before sunrise they'll be none the wiser. Come on."

The air outside was warm and dry. Albus followed James around the side of the house and past the pond, where the chorus of frogs and crickets was deafening, to the back gate. His heart swelled at the sight that lay beyond it: a vast, empty stretch of land, where the moon cast a perfect glow over everything—the tall grass swaying in the breeze, the smooth pebbles underfoot, even

the field mice as they dispersed and scurried for cover at the first sound of footsteps.

James stood back against the gate, grinning. "Ready to lose, little man?"

Albus pushed past him, deliberately bumping his shoulder. "Over my dead body. Tonight I'm going to prove just how overrated you really are," he announced dramatically. "You might be able to fool them, but you can't fool me: _I'm_ the real talent in this family. It's about time everyone knew it."

James chuckled and closed the gate, falling into step beside Albus, and slung an arm over his younger brother's shoulder. "I know who the real talent is—it's you that needs convincing, mate; not me."

Albus made a face at him and brushed his arm away. "Alright, alright, enough with the sappy stuff," he ordered. "Are we gonna play or not?"

James smiled his infamous smile and shook his head. "I'm serious, you know," he remonstrated. "You, Al, you've got more brains than all of us put together. You could be anything you wanted to be. What's Quidditch compared to that?"

Albus sighed and lowered his broom. "Everything I want that I can't have."

James wrinkled his brow. "You really think so?"

"I dunno," Albus admitted. He hated when conversations with his brother turned serious. "All I know is that the one thing I want to be good at, I'm not. Earning all the good grades in the world isn't going to change that. But if it can't be me, I'm glad it's you. You deserve everything you have, and I want you to go all the way with it. We all do. Trust me, if you do you'll be a bigger legend than Dad one day."

"Don't let _him_ hear you say that," said James with a laugh. After a moment of silence, he glanced up at Albus with a fond expression, and reached out to touch his shoulder. "But thanks, Al. You know I'd never have come this far without you, right? I mean, who else was going to sneak out of the house and train with me these past few months? I'd never have had a shot with Puddlemere if it weren't for you."

Albus gave him faint smile. "Yes, you would have," he said. "But thanks for lying to me. You're too soft for your own good, James; it's a bit of a liability." With that he mounted his broom and soared up into the night, the wind whipping through his hair and clothes.

Adrenaline rushed through him, filling his veins with an electric bliss. Unlike James, he might not have been born for this sport; but it was in his blood, his _soul_ —never would he give it up for anything.

"You coming or what?" he called, looking down at his brother, who was little more than a speck in the distance. The house looked dark and empty from this vantage, entirely unfamiliar. Right now nothing existed but he and James, this field—their childhood playground—and the thrill of the game.

James shot upward from the ground like an arrow, his speed and grace exhilarating to watch. Albus laughed and climbed higher to match him; but no matter how hard he pushed himself, he was never quite able to equal his brother's skill and precision on a broom: it was almost as though the two made one whole, a living, breathing thing, neither complete without the other.

"Oi!" yelled James, circling a few metres above him. Albus looked up with a wide grin, watching as his brother dug around in his pockets and retrieved a struggling, winged ball—their father's prized Snitch. "Ready?"

Wordlessly, Albus nodded.

"Go!"

The two brothers burst into action—James taking an effortless lead, Albus employing every trick ever taught to him in the desperate hope of winning. It was something he hadn't yet achieved, and likely never would, but as long as he had breath in his body he'd never give up trying. He was nothing if not stubborn.

His eyes watered as he shot through the air, zipping back and forth like a branch buffeted by the current. A bright gold glint in the distance caught his eye, and with no James in sight, he flattened his body against his broom and pitched forward, arm outstretched. His heart hammered wildly. He knew it wouldn't be this easy (he'd never caught so much as a whiff of winning against James and was entirely at peace with it, touched rather than bitter that his brother thought too highly of him to _let_ him win a game) but he had nothing to lose.

An odd noise sounded in the distance, followed by a sharp cry, but Albus ignored it. His brother always grunted like a wounded boar when he flew—it was a running joke among most of Gryffindor House, who often teased him for it. Instead he kept his focus, refusing to become distracted—his single-mindedness was a trait he seemed to share with his father alone.

He flew as fast as he could, the wind whistling in his ears and stinging his skin. Unless James had a dirty trick up his sleeve, the prize seemed like it was finally within range, his for the taking. The Snitch fluttered wildly ahead like a hummingbird, forcing him to change course every few seconds. Disbelieving, he squeezed his eyes shut and flung his arm out, groping at the air, and clenched his teeth. When his fingers finally closed around cool metal everything went quiet.

This was it. He'd won.

He opened his eyes and looked at the object in his grasp, stunned: the Snitch was motionless now, thrumming gently against his palm like a purring cat. He gripped the handle of his broom with one hand, grinning madly, and whipped around, scanning the skies for James. "Either you're losing your touch," he boasted, holding the Snitch high over his head, "or you finally caved and let me win! If you did, you're more of a bastard than I gave you credit for, but if you—" Albus fell abruptly silent, blinking.

James was nowhere to be seen.

It hit him and he rolled his eyes. Of course. This was the punchline for whatever joke James had decided to pull on him tonight— it had been stupid of him to think his brother would ever let him reach the Snitch unchallenged. "James!" he called in a singsong voice, cupping his mouth with his hands. "Not funny, arsehole! Where are you? I'll kill you for this!"

Silence.

Unnerved, Albus frowned and flew lower, still clutching the Snitch in his hand. "James, come on! This isn't funny! Show your face, you tosser!"

A dozen or so metres from the ground he looked down and instantly wished he hadn't: there, on the grass, lay a dark, twisted figure.

 _James_.

Albus's stomach lurched. "James!" he cried.

He flew to the ground and clambered from his broom before throwing it to one side, caring nothing for it. He ran to James and fell to his knees beside him, his heart pounding in his throat. "James," he whispered, his hands hovering over his brother's chest, not sure where to touch him first. "Oh, God..."

James's body was arranged at a grotesque angle: one arm was twisted behind his back, and his right shoulder bulged beneath his shirt, clearly dislocated. His legs were twisted like a doll with too many joints, both splayed too far from his body not to be broken, and a dark patch of blood bloomed beneath the fabric of his clothes, just over his ribs.

But it was nothing compared to his neck. Albus had never seen an injury like it. Bones pushed through the surface of the stretched skin, as though someone had wrenched his head around so that he was facing the wrong way. Albus couldn't see his eyes. He knew at once this was no joke, and was overcome by the sudden urge to be sick. Swallowing it down, he reached for his wand, letting out a hoarse cry when he found it missing. He remembered they'd both left their wands back at the house. Their father had taught them never to carry them while flying: having no use for them in the sky, it was a pointless to risk them being damaged during a game.

"Damn it!"

Desperate, Albus placed his hands over his brother's twisted neck and closed his eyes, focusing every ounce of energy on his magic. It could be done, he thought frantically. Wandless magic. He'd witnessed both of his parents practice it at various times during his life. If ever there was a time to put his limited understanding of the subject into practice, it was now.

" _Sanataius_ ," he muttered over and over, concentrating so hard his head ached. He opened his eyes. Nothing happened. James didn't heal. Didn't move. Didn't breathe.

Frantic, he fell backward and let out a strangled scream. It wasn't too late, he thought. Surely St. Mungos saw this type of injury all the time. All Albus had to do was get him there, somewhere they could fix him, and everything would be alright. He knew James would likely make a joke out of it later, even if this was literally the unfunniest thing that had ever happened to him.

Hauling himself to his feet, he knelt over James's body and placed his hands on either side of his brother's head. "It's going to be alright," he whispered, biting his lip. "Come on, we need to get you up." Gently as possible, he manoeuvred James's head into the correct position.

And let out a strangled cry.

Looking back at him were dead eyes.

"DAD!" he bellowed, his own voice ringing in his ears. He looke at the house, his hands still on James, and tried not to lay eyes on his brother. "DAD! DAD, _PLEASE_!" His knees buckled under him.

The upstairs lights flickered on—his parents' room and Lily's—like two glowing eyes staring back at him. He sobbed and wiped his face. "DAD!" he screamed again.

The back door slammed shut. "Al!" It was his father. "Al, where are you?"

Albus saw the light of his father's wand and could no longer contain himself. He fell away from James and was violently ill.

Footsteps hurtled toward him.

"Al? Al, what happened?"

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, Albus looked up. His father was rushing toward them, dressed in a pair of black boxers, wand in hand, with his mother following closely behind.

Unable to answer him immediately, Albus looked at James and shook his head, while his father collapsed to the ground by his James's head.

"James!"

Somewhere in the distance Albus's mother's screams drowned out the sound of his father's frantic Casting, and a voice at the back of his mind spoke the truth: Their efforts were futile. No spell, no potion, could cure a broken neck.

James Potter was dead. A Muggle injury had killed him. He was eighteen years old.


	2. Denial

That night after the Sorting, Albus made a quiet exit from the party (held in James's honor) raging in the common-room below, unable to accept the drunken condolences of one more person he couldn't care less about. James had always given the impression he loved everyone, no matter where they came from, what house they were in—but Albus knew him a little better than that. He was sure his brother wouldn't know the surnames of half these 'mourners': to him they were clingers-on, nobodies, people who had always taken advantage of James and his kindness.

Albus hated them a little.

He opened his trunk at the foot of his bed, surveying the contents for a few moments—same trunk, same belongings. It was everything else that was different. Earlier, he'd stood outside his brother's old dormitory until his feet were numb and felt the same; that everything was perfect, whole, just the way he remembered it—but with one jarring error: James was gone. It was like switching on a familiar television programme to find all his favorite actors had been replaced by people he didn't recognize.

At any moment he expected to hear his brother's bellowing laughter reverberate through the dormitories, for him to burst through the door with news of his latest prank, or perhaps a letter from their parents. He saw him everywhere: in the shining faces of the First Years, the brimming enthusiasm of the new prefects, and the crisp new Quidditch uniforms, still packed and folded in their boxes. He only wished to push the memory of him aside long enough to breathe, to a place where it didn't hurt like this, so that he might spend one second of his day in something other than total agony.

But it was impossible. In many ways James was still very much with him, refusing to let him forget that his death was no accident, that it was in fact his entire fault, and if he'd only been more responsible, refused to sneak out onto the pitch with him that night, James would still be breathing. But as Gran Weasley had told him after the funeral, these things didn't bear thinking about. He could either move on, accepting the loss of his only brother, or torture himself with guilt for the rest of his life. Albus knew which he deserved.

There was a light knock on the door. "Al?"

He cleared his throat. "Come in."

The door creaked as it opened. Emily Foster, a girl he'd dated briefly before the summer and now barely remembered, shut it behind her and made her way to him, her hands twisted in front of her. "Hey, Al," she said quietly. "Have you got a minute?"

"Sure." Albus refused to look at her, choosing instead to continue packing, mechanically folding and refolding each item of clothing as he removed it from his trunk.

"I'm sorry about your brother."

Albus didn't answer her.

"I would have been at the funeral but I was in Greece with my parents and I—" She sniffled. "I...I didn't know. I'm so sorry."

"Don't mention it," said Albus, turning his back to her so as to avoid looking at her entirely. "I'm sure he knows you'd have wanted to be there." Being kind about this was something that grew harder and harder with each passing day, but this was Emily: she'd known and loved James like everyone else. Maybe he owed it to her.

She approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "What about you? How are you coping?" Her voice sounded thick, like she was in tears. Albus was incapable of understanding the good of crying: to him, it alleviated nothing but a dry membrane Certainly wasn't going to do anything for James.

"I'm fine," he said shortly. "Better than anyone expected, anyway." He gave an unconvincing laugh.

"Fine?" she whispered. Emily wound her arms around his waist and rested her head upon his shoulder. "You don't look fine to me, Albus." He stiffened. "I'm here for you, okay?" she promised. "I want you to know that. If you ever need to talk about anything, ever, I'll be there. You don't have to feel like you're alone in this. Everyone, the whole house," she said, choking on a sob, "we're all grieving with you. We all loved him. And we need to pull together if we're going to get through it, right?"

Albus unhooked her arms from around him and gently pushed her away. "Thanks," he said, "but I'm coping fine on my own. Really."

"Al—"

"Look, I think you should leave. I want to be alone right now. Sorry."

There was a long period of silence. Emily left, shutting the door softly behind her. Albus hoped it was the last time he'd have to speak to her.

Care of Magical Creatures had always been Albus's favorite class—until today. Before the lesson, Professor Hagrid (an old family friend) pulled him aside and informed him between fits of sobbing that it was okay if he decided he wanted to skip class, as the subject being covered was likely to upset him.

"No," Albus told him firmly, looking Hagrid in the eye. "Whatever it is, I can handle it. I need my NEWT's and every class is important, you said so yourself."

This was a lie. He didn't need his NEWT's. What he needed was the distraction of study—he intended to drown himself in it.

Hagrid looked down at him with glassy eyes, his hair and beard more matted and unkempt than Albus had ever seen them. "'Course, Al," he nodded, his voice raw and scratchy. He patted Albus's head like he was still five years old, and looked like he wanted to say something else but couldn't. Albus rejoined the group, determined to keep it together.

The class followed Hagrid into the Forbidden Forest. The smell of grass and damp earth filled Albus's nostrils, and though he was flanked by friends on either side, he felt alone. They kept to a narrow winding path until they were so deep inside the trees it was difficult to see, and didn't stop until they reached a clearing. Hagrid started to speak but Albus couldn't hear him. Ahead was a herd of the most majestic—and at the same time, frightening— animals he had ever seen. He knew without asking what they were, and exactly why he could see them: Thestrals.

He moved forward without bothering to wait for permission. His ears were ringing as he approached the herd, blocking out everything but the sound of his own beating heart. They stirred as he came closer, their skeletal bodies and leathery, bat-like wings gleaming in the dappled sunlight.

A chorus of 'Potter!' broke through his thoughts and he whirled around. The rest of the class (made up of half Gryffindors, half Ravenclaws) watched him with equally horrified expressions, murmuring amongst themselves. Hagrid looked torn between dragging him back by the scruff of his neck and letting him have his way. Thankfully, he appeared to settle on the latter. He motioned one of the class forward—Scorpius Malfoy, by the looks of it—and thrust what appeared to be a raw dragon steak into his chest.

Scorpius stumbled and very nearly fell backward before hastily righting himself and scurrying toward Albus, hanging on to the meat with one hand and pushing his glasses up over the bridge of his nose.

Albus watched him. "Volunteering to feed them, are you?" he remarked.

Scorpius shook his head, an action that caused most of his hair to spill out of its band. "Professor Hagrid told me that if you want to touch them you should soften them up by feeding them first," he said importantly. "He says they've got quite the nasty kick." He gave a nervous laugh at this.

Albus took the steak from him, debating whether or not to inform him that Hagrid had only sacrificed him for this job because he despised the surname Malfoy. But that was before he realized he no longer held any desire to punish Scorpius, who was undeniably the most bullied, harassed student in their year—not to mention someone he barely knew—for no reason other than nastiness. It seemed redundant now.

Besides, James would never have hurt someone weaker than him for a laugh. He'd been far too diplomatic for that.

Albus returned his attention to the Thestrals. They were gathered all around now, excited by the smell of fresh meat. A particularly bold one had approached Scorpius, and was now sniffing his chest with enthusiasm.

Albus watched, intrigued. "Can you see them?"

Scorpius wrinkled his nose as one licked his face, knocking his glasses askew, and patted its snout. "Oh, yes," he laughed. "I've always been able to see them. You know, they're quite affectionate if they like you," he added thoughtfully.

"Or you smell like blood," Albus offered.

Scorpius laughed heartily and Albus frowned—he was sure the joke had been mediocre at best. Following Scorpius's lead, he offered the steak to the first Thestral bold enough to approach him, and gingerly patted its snout. It suffered the attention for a little while before finally losing interest and moving on to other members of the class now offering food, most of whom couldn't see them. Looking at the students milling about, it soon became clear that only three people present—he, Scorpius, and Hagrid—actually could see them. It was a sobering thought.

Albus gravitated closer to Scorpius, who was now being sniffed by not one but three Thestrals, two of them infants, and smiled. "Alright there?"

Scorpius looked up in surprise as the smallest Thestral bumped his legs and nearly knocked him off kilter. Albus caught his shoulder. "They seem to like you," he laughed.

Scorpius beamed. "I think they remember me."

"Yeah?"

He nodded. "Mm-hm. I used to help feed them last year. Hagrid says they remember smells, not faces. That's probably why these ones here are sniffing me out."

"Oh." Absently, Albus stroked the young foal's back. "You like this class, then?"

"It's one of my favorites," Scorpius told him, adjusting his glasses. "I like animals. I'd like to be a breeder one day, actually. You know," he added, "as a hobby."

Albus gave him an awkward smile. "Er, yeah. That sounds ... nice."

Scorpius looked uneasy, embarrassed. Biting his lip, he blurted, "What about you? I mean, what's your favorite class?"

"Potions, probably," Albus answered, admiring the young foal's lustrous wings. "I've always found it easiest."

"Really?"

Albus looked up at the blond boy. "Sure. You follow your instructions, the potion gets made. Easy. Contrary to popular belief, it's probably one of the hardest things to stuff up."

"I've never thought of it that way."

"Everyone's different."

They lapsed into silence.

"Hogwarts really does have the best Thestrals, doesn't it?" Scorpius said finally, shattering the silence.

Albus looked at him. "I wouldn't know. I haven't seen any others."

"Really?"

Albus felt prickly with annoyance. "Really. My brother died a couple of months back. Before then I couldn't see them."

Scorpius looked deep in thought for a moment. "I didn't know him," was all he said.

The next few weeks passed in a blur. By the end of November, Albus had whittled down his list of friends to about none, while the people he spoke to more than once a day numbered an approximate three.

Lily had returned to school in October, and though he was sure their parents maintained hope they'd find comfort in each other, he predicted they'd be disappointed—Albus couldn't even look at Lily without feeling like his chest had been torn open with meat hooks. What they shared in James was too raw to confront.

Where Lily wanted to sob and reminisce and cry on his shoulder, all Albus wanted was to forget. The memories were physically painful, and no good would ever come from living in the past. It only left him bitter thinking of things he could never have—like James. Crying over what was irrevocably lost was useless to him now.

And so Lily stopped trying. She sought comfort elsewhere, and Albus was happy for her. As long as one of them was dealing, it kept him satisfied. Besides, Lily deserved to be happy. She was innocent. She'd lost her favorite brother, and it was all because Albus had been too distracted that night to protect him.

He watched from a library window as the Gryffindor Quidditch team conducted try-outs. Every player swathed in red and gold was James, carefree and happy as they soared into the clouds. The grief was choking. He felt hollow like never before, like someone had yanked out his guts only to haphazardly replace them, all in the wrong order. He'd loved Quidditch once. Now he'd be pleased to see every broomstick, every Quaffle, every Snitch, go up in flames.

He turned away from the window like a ghost and slowly trudged his way to a desk. Plonking down in a chair he pulled out his books, every one of them, and barricaded himself in, desperate to lose himself in a litany of useless information.

"What's this, loser? Homework?"

Hushed giggles sounded throughout the library. Albus looked up: a few desks away, Scorpius Malfoy was sitting by himself, surrounded by a group of snickering Slytherins. One of them snatched his notebook, and holding it away from him, began to read aloud in a mocking tone:

"Yesterday, Daddy finally wrote. He says he'll be back from Holland next week and promises to visit. I just hope he doesn't bring that tramp Loretta. I know she's only pretending to like me to get on side with him. I overheard her telling Andrew she thinks I'm 'weird'—"

Having heard enough, Albus pushed himself out of his chair and stormed over to them, snatching the notebook from the Slytherin's hand. "Leave him alone," he warned, pressing the book back into Scorpius's chest. "What's he ever done to you?"

The group exchanged uneasy glances. "It's just a bit of fun," said a girl with wavy copper hair. "He knows we don't mean it. Right, Scorp?"

Albus looked at Scorpius, whose naturally fair complexion was redder than a tomato. "Right," he said, looking down at the desk. "We're just having a laugh. All in good fun."

Albus looked at him closely—for perhaps the first time ever—and couldn't help feeling pity for him. "Scorpius," he began gently, "they're laughing at you, mate—not with you."

Scorpius swallowed and didn't say anything.

"Get out of here," Albus muttered and gestured for the Slytherins to leave. "And leave him alone from now on, you hear me? Christ, we've been giving him hell since first year—it's getting a smidge old, don't you think?"

"Oh, whatever, Potter" said the girl. She flipped her shiny hair and left, motioning for her friends to follow.

When they were alone, Albus sat down across from him. "Are you okay?"

Scorpius nodded but wouldn't look at him. "I didn't need help," he said. "We're all friends, really."

"Friends humiliate each other publicly, do they?"

Scorpius slouched in his chair. "I don't know," he admitted. "If they don't, then I suppose I don't have any."

Albus frowned. "Do you want to come for a walk?"

"What, you and me?" Scorpius's expression was distinctly sceptical.

Albus shrugged. "Sure. It'd be nice to get some fresh air. Come on."

They dumped their bags in an alcove, warding them with a few flimsy charms, and set off for the lake, huddled together against the evening chill. Albus rubbed his hands together to warm them; Scorpius immediately followed, mimicking him. Albus smiled. "What did you do over break?"

Scorpius glanced at him sidelong, his cheeks flushed apple-red. "I visited my grandmother in Holland," he said dully.

Albus folded his arms across his chest. "What, you don't like Holland or something?" he guessed

"No, I like Holland," said Scorpius, "just not my grandmother."

"Oh," said Albus. "Well, why not?"

"She's mean," Scorpius answered simply.

"Mean?" Albus laughed.

"Yes, mean. She constantly tells me how sick I look, how I'm not enough like my father and my grandfather, that my Malfoy blood is too diluted. It's horrid, really. Not all of us can look like Norse gods of war."

"Norse gods of war?" Albus snorted, snickering.

"Her words, not mine," Scorpius was quick to point out.

"Well," said Albus, "I should introduce you to my grandmother. She'd love the chance to fatten up a scrawny little thing like you, believe me." Mortified, he quickly added, "Er, no offence."

Scorpius shrugged. "None taken."

They were silent until they reached the tree. Sitting down, Scorpius drew his knees to his chest and watched the lake; the dark water was choppy with the wind, a sneaking tentacle visible every now and then from beneath the surface. "So," he said, as Albus sat down beside him, "how come you're talking to me?" He sounded genuinely curious.

Albus rested his back against the tree and laced his fingers

together. "I don't know what you mean," he said, yawning. "I talk to everyone."

"Not me."

"Sure I do. Remember that time back in third year when we got paired together in Herbology? I'm pretty sure we talked then," he pointed out.

"You called me an albino freak and demanded another partner. I'm pretty sure you almost cried. Does that count?"

Albus choked on a sudden burst of laughter. "What?"

"It's true. I ended up partnering with Mindy Silverman. She didn't like me either, but she was a good partner. Pity she left. I don't know what happened, but I heard she had crabs."

Albus couldn't remember the last time he'd laughed so much in one day. "Stop making me laugh," he demanded, breathless. "Look, I'm sorry if I ever did those things. I guess when you're a kid it's easier to be a git—especially when no one makes you accountable for it. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings, anyway. And just for the record, I don't think you're an albino freak."

Scorpius looked at him and smiled. "I didn't think you'd be so nice to me."

"No?"

He shook his head. "I always thought you'd be sort of—"

"Bigheaded?" Albus suggested.

Scorpius laughed for the first time, and Albus smiled at the sight of it. "Yes," he said. "Maybe."

Albus sighed. "I guess I am—was—a bit."

They spent the next few minutes in comfortable silence. Albus thought about the years he'd spent at Hogwarts, the things he'd done here, and all that he regretted. He felt ashamed that he'd never done more to alleviate the relentless bullying Scorpius endured—back then, he'd supposed it wasn't his problem. It was for someone else to deal with. And it had been easier to distance himself because Scorpius was different: in Albus's mind at least, his behavior invited derision. Because who else wore their hair that long, sat alone during every break, and was the son and grandson of former Death Eaters? Scorpius Malfoy was an easy target, nothing more.

"Can I ask you something?" said Albus.

"Of course you can."

"The Thestrals," he began. "You said you've always been able to see them. Can I ask how?"

Scorpius stared at him. Albus watched as the color slowly drained from his face. Eventually, he looked away and said, "Did you know it was a Malfoy who bred the first Thestral?"

Albus forced a smile. "No," he said. "No, I didn't."


	3. Anger

The clanging sound of instruments filtered from the Great Hall as Albus descended the staircase. Catching sight of his reflection in a nearby window, he paused and adjusted his robes, trying in vain to smooth his impossible black hair. He'd lost weight, that much was obvious: his cheekbones were pronounced, his jawline sharply defined. Briefly he wondered whether James would even recognize him. Gone was the beaming, well-fed boy of their childhood. In his place stood a haunted man, a man with bright green eyes that weren't his own. Here was a man James hadn't lived to meet.

Albus resisted the urge to smash his fist through the window. He'd been told not to dwell on all that seemed unfair—but how? How was he supposed to do that? A world of possibilities, a future that had once seemed limitless, had been stripped from them without warning. Everything Albus had ever known and believed in was upended. For months now he'd been subjected to 'everything happens for a reason' and 'God works in mysterious ways'—from everyone, left right and centre. But where was the meaning in something so senseless?

There wasn't one. Perhaps nothing meant anything.

He stared down his own reflection, his fists clenching at his sides. If there was a God, Albus didn't want to meet him. If God had taken James like this, Albus hated him.

The Great Hall had been transformed into an opulent ballroom. The four House tables were pushed neatly against the walls, leaving a shimmering gold dance-floor in the centre. The domed ceiling reflected the early evening sky—a deep violet expanse, littered with stars and drifting scuds of clouds. Hundreds of floating candles flickered overhead. The school band were stationed in front, playing a passable rendition of an old Wizard's waltz, and old Professor Flitwick stood atop the staff table, clapping in time with the music and squeaking directions.

Albus hung back for a moment, his arms folded across his chest. He was late and the lesson had started without him. Guardedly he watched the other students dance—they numbered only a dozen or so—and tried to recall everything he knew about traditional dancing. He'd attended a few of these classes last year with Rose for a laugh, but the novelty had soon worn off and he'd fast grown bored of it. Now he was desperate for yet another extracurricular activity to fill his already overburdened schedule, and a poncy dancing class—the furthest thing from Quidditch he could think of—seemed just the thing.

Rose caught his eye from across the room and offered a faint smile and wave. She was dancing with her boyfriend (how she'd ever persuaded him to join her in this Albus would never know) and looked striking in a gown of pale pink and dainty white shoes.

Scorpius Malfoy's gleaming white-blond head was easily discernable among the crowd. Albus watched as he carried out the steps with an invisible partner, face screwed in concentration, and felt a smile tug at his lips. The other boy's complete lack of self-awareness was certainly endearing.

Albus smoothed back his hair one last time and manoeuvred his way through the dancing couples to join him. He'd already made up his mind to ask him to dance. As the only person in the room who was assured not to bring up James, Albus thought it a rather brilliant idea—he didn't care who thought what about it. He came up behind the blond boy and tapped him on the shoulder. "Oi."

Scorpius whipped around, breathless, and looked Albus up and down, eyes widening as they took him in. "Oh," he said. "Hello, Albus."

Albus smiled. "Having fun?"

Scorpius covered his mouth with his hand and coughed delicately. "Of course," he said, patting his chest. "It's just that some of the steps are difficult to practice without a partner. But it's alright," he added quickly. "I've had to improvise, that's all."

Albus nodded. "Right, good job. Listen, do you want to dance?"

Scorpius's mouth fell open. "I beg your pardon?"

"Do you want to dance?" Albus repeated loudly.

"With you?"

Albus gave him a dry look. "That's what I was getting at, yeah."

Scorpius looked green. "Oh," he said, swallowing. "Yes. Yes, of course I do."

"Good, I'm glad that's settled, then." Albus circled the other boy's narrow wrists with his fingers and pulled him closer. "Do you do this often?" He hadn't a clue what he was doing, but hoped at least one of them did.

Scorpius looked up at him and frowned, the light of a thousand candles reflected in his glasses. "I've been coming here since it started," he said. "I haven't missed a single class. Do you want to be the boy or the girl?"

At this, Albus felt like an arsehole. In all the classes he'd attended with Rose, not once had he noticed Scorpius.

"Er, I'll be the boy," he said.

"Very well, then." Scorpius laced the fingers of one hand through Albus's and placed the other on his shoulder. He closed his eyes and counted inaudibly, shuffling his feet.

Albus looked around the room at the other couples, some of whom were watching them with odd expressions. He didn't care—none of the students, not even the Slytherins, had dared to make fun of him for anything this year. He wasn't sure whether he found their trepidation touching or irksome.

"Are we doing this right?" he asked his partner, frowning.

Scorpius looked at him. "I think so," he answered, sounding unsure. "Do you want to take the lead?"

Albus put his arm around Scorpius's waist and tried to mimic the other couples without much success. He spun them around a couple of times with surprising grace, though he didn't quite manage to avoid treading on Scorpius's toes a time or two.

"This is much more fun with someone else," Scorpius said with a breathless laugh. He put both of his arms around Albus's neck when the music changed tempo.

Albus joined his hands at the small of the other boy's back. "Why do you do it?" he asked, staring down at him. As near-strangers they were far too close not to be made slightly uncomfortable. He was sure Scorpius felt it too.

"Do what?"

"Take this class," Albus clarified. "I mean, don't you have anything better to do?"

Scorpius's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't you?" he retorted coldly.

"I didn't mean it like that," Albus said quickly. "I was just trying to get to know you. Never mind."

Scorpius's expression softened. "My father," he sighed. "He signed me up two years ago."

"And?"

"And so I have to attend. He likes me to be well-rounded. He says if I'm going to join the Ministry after school, the longer my vita the better. You never know when you'll be in need of a particular skill. I think it's prudent to be well-versed in as many areas as possible, don't you?"

Albus shrugged. "I suppose so. But you want to join the Ministry?" Scorpius nodded. "Which department?"

"International Magical Cooperation."

"Really?" Albus asked, surprised.

"Mm-hm. I speak five languages," Scorpius managed without sounding pompous.

Albus let out a short burst of laughter. "Is that so?"

"Russian, Italian, French and Spanish," Scorpius fired off. "Oh, and English, of course," he added as an afterthought. "What about you? What are your plans after NEWT's?"

Albus paused, thinking. "I don't really know anymore, to be honest. I wanted to join the Ministry once too," he confided. "Department of Magical Games and Sports."

Scorpius listened intently, his eyes like two silver Sickles. His lips were pillowy and looked soft, like rose petals, and this close his skin was perfect. They were holding hands again, and Albus's was getting rather clammy. "But after my brother died," he continued, swallowing, "I revaluated. I didn't want anything to do with it."

"What, the Ministry?"

Albus shook his head and spun them around again. "No," he said. "Quidditch."

They were silent for a while.

"Albus?" said Scorpius. Albus looked at him. The music had stopped. "What happened to your brother?"

Albus let go of him, glad for the distance. "He had an accident," he said tersely. "What, you didn't read about it?"

Scorpius looked mildly sheepish. "No," he admitted. "My father doesn't let me read any of the papers. He says they're full of lies and propaganda." He sighed. "I don't know, maybe he just doesn't want me reading anything that might hurt me. They still talk about Dad and Granddad, you know. Scrutinize them. I suppose it doesn't matter how much money he gives away to charities; they'll never truly vindicate him."

The music started again, mid-tempo, and Albus took his hand. "Do you think he deserves to be?"

Scorpius glared at him then, eyes flashing behind his glasses. "What do you know about it?" he snapped. "My father's a good man. He might have made mistakes, but hasn't everyone? Why should he still be punished, after all this time?"

Albus blinked, startled. "I'm sorry," he said. "Scorpius, I didn't mean to upset you. You're right: I don't know anything about it. I know my father and I'm sure you know yours. If anyone can speak on his behalf, it's you. I was curious is all. Trying to make conversation. Forget I said anything."

Scorpius went pink and studied his shoes. "It's not your fault," he mumbledc. "It's me. I'm not ... I've never been any good at talking to people. I always say the wrong things. But I apologize; I know you don't mean any harm."

Albus touched his shoulder. "Forget it," he said, feeling slightly uncomfortable now. "Really, it's not important. Let's just get on with it, yeah? Everyone's staring."

And they were: Rose, in particular. She was watching them with a curious expression, her chin propped on her partner's shoulder. What the hell? she mouthed at him, wrinkling her nose. Malfoy?

Albus ignored her and turned back to Scorpius. "Alright?"

Scorpius assumed the correct stance and nodded, matching Albus step for step. Clearing his throat, he said, "You were saying?"

"What?"

"Your brother."

"Oh." Albus bit his lip.

"You don't have to—"

"No, it's okay," Albus said hastily. And curiously, it was. The ease he felt discussing James with someone who hadn't known him took Albus completely by surprise, but he clung on to it with tenacity. It was a welcome change. "It was an accident," he said. "We were playing Quidditch, just mucking around. It was a clear night; his first game was coming up and he wanted to get some practice in. Puddlemere United had just taken him on, and he was over the moon about it. He spent more time flying than he did on the ground; it was where he belonged. Anyway, we were playing and he ... he fell."

"Fell?" Scorpius looked confused.

"Yeah. He fell. It was over before I knew what was happening."

"But how?" said Scorpius.

"How what?"

"How could he just ... fall?"

"Easily," said Albus. "One of the safety Charms on his broom must have failed, we don't quite know why, and that was it: He fell out of the sky, broke his neck."

Scorpius appeared to struggle greatly with this information. "I don't understand," he muttered.

They came to a standstill.

"It was an accident," Albus repeated to him. "They happen all the time, only generally no one hears about them."

Scorpius looked deep in thought. "But this time the whole world did," he said slowly, "because he was a Potter?"

Albus smiled tightly. "Yeah," he said. "Something like that."

Scorpius moved closer to him, resting his cheek upon his shoulder—every other couple in the room was doing the same, but for Albus the gesture was still more intimate than he would have liked. "I hope you sued the manufacturer," Scorpius muttered. "Bunch of shoddy bastards. There should be a full-scale inquest into this, I tell you. Imagine that: not even safe on your own broom."

Albus laughed in spite of himself. "I don't think it's that simple."

"Why not?"

He sighed. "None of my family is in a state to go down that road right now," he confessed. "It's still too early. Maybe in a few months time, I don't know." He was lying to himself. His father was a broken man, and his mother ... He doubted now whether she'd ever stop crying, much less be able to function like a normal human being again.

Scorpius pulled away and looked at him, impassioned. "My father works for Magical Equipment Control," he said.

"So?" said Albus.

"So I can talk to him," Scorpius said brightly, "see if something can't be done! Maybe someone should be held accountable for what happened; and if the manufacturers are at fault for the safety Charms failing, they need to be brought to justice—to stop the same thing happening all over again, yes?"

"Maybe," Albus conceded. He put his hands on Scorpius's hips as they switched places. "But what makes you think your father will have any interest in this? I'm sure he's a busy man."

"He's a decent man," said Scorpius, eyes glittering in the candlelight. "Your brother's story will trouble him, I can assure you. It's up to you, of course, but I think it's an avenue worth exploring. And I'll help you, if you like," he added shyly.

"Thanks, that's really kind of you," Albus told him, meaning every word. He'd never given Scorpius any reason to like him, much less help him, and yet here he was, offering it freely.

Scorpius smiled at him, and Albus noticed he had a slight dimple in one cheek. "You're welcome," he said. "If it's alright with you, I'll start looking into it."

"Yeah," said Albus, feeling slightly overwhelmed. "Sure." He pulled Scorpius into him for the last song (a slow waltz) and they finished their dance in silence.

On Thursday night, Scorpius approached Albus in the library. "Albus?" he said, hovering nervously over the table.

Albus looked up from his Arithmancy essay and forced a smile. "Call me Al, and sit down," he said, gesturing to a chair. "It's not illegal. Honestly, I don't know why you insist on walking around this school like you're not supposed to be here."

Ignoring him, Scorpius dropped his bag onto the table and took a seat across from him. "I spoke to Dad," he said in a hushed voice, folding his arms over the desk.

"Oh," said Albus, his interest piqued. He set down his quill. "Anything interesting?"

Scorpius looked left and right. "The company that made your brother's broom," he whispered, "Mendelssohn Industries? They've received three separate complaints over the last twelve months—all related to the safety Charms configured on their brooms."

"You're kidding," said Albus. He felt numb. Leaning over the table, he said, "Can I see the letter?"

Scorpius dug around in his pockets and pulled out a folded square of parchment, handing it to him. "Just ignore the personal bits," he advised.

Albus hastily unfolded the parchment.

Scorpius,

In response to your query, I can confirm the following information: In January of 2023, Mary Dolton was killed after falling several hundred feet from her broom. Authorities were unable to determine the exact cause of the accident, though her family insisted a faulty broom was responsible. A complaint was submitted to the ombudsman in March.

June 2023 — same story: Matthew Pickering, 19, of Woodbridge, England, was killed during a Quidditch game with friends. Although the cause of the accident was officially indeterminate, witnesses were adamant broom failure was to blame. A report was filed later that month.

Lastly, in October of 2023, Angelo Lamonte, 26, a professional Quidditch player residing in Kent, was killed during team practice. Broom failure is suspected, though unconfirmed.

Scorpius – If you have indeed befriended Harry Potter's son, please be sure to extend my deepest condolences to his family. The Wizarding world mourns with them during this difficult time. Of course I'd advise the Potter family to explore their legal options in regard to Mendelssohn Industries, but understandably, this may not to be possible for some time. Both Potter and his family need time to come to terms with their loss before facing what is likely to be a long and arduous battle, and even then the outcome is uncertain. Unfortunately, these things tend to err on the side of ambiguous.

On a brighter note, Christmas is almost upon us. Both Loretta and I are looking forward to seeing you a great deal. If there's anything you require in the meantime, however, don't hesitate to forward your requests to Andrew: I'm sure he'd be delighted to organize anything you might require. I realize NEWT-year is a taxing one— you have my greatest sympathies, son—but remember I have the greatest faith in you. Anything you want is within your reach, and I have no doubt you'll make me proud.

Love,

Daddy

Blinking, Albus let the parchment fall from his hands. Although there was something undeniably odd about a boy Scorpius's age calling his father 'daddy', Albus had more immediate concerns. Namely that he wanted to be sick all over the table.

Scorpius reached across and touched his hand. "Are you alright, Albus?" he asked gently.

"I'm fine," he replied through his teeth. Pushing himself out of his chair, he ran for the exit.

Running with no clear direction, Albus wiped his face with his sleeve, tears cooling on his cheeks. It was like a waking nightmare. Each day he prayed he'd snap out of it; only he never did. This was real: James was dead, and a dodgy broom (of all things, a broom!) had claimed his life. How on earth had this ever been allowed to happen?

He fell to his knees in the Entrance Hall; the marble felt glacial under his knees. Hanging his head in his hands, he resigned himself to crying several months' worth of tears: the seal had finally broken, and now there seemed no way to stop it—his sobs echoed all around him, like the chorus of a broken choir. A fury the likes of which he'd never known rose up inside him, filling him with venom: If there really was a God, some grand meaning, had James really been so expendable to it?

His brother had been everything to him—his best friend, a hero. Did that mean nothing to the powers that be? How could he die like this, for something so stupid, only to have the world carry on as it always had? Why had the traffic not stopped, the sun not risen, the earth not come to a screeching halt? Why didn't anyone care?

Silent, Albus wrenched back his fist and slammed it into the ground over and over, until drops of his own blood splattered across the flawless surface of the marble like spilled rubies. It was only once he'd stopped, his knuckles shattered, bloody and bruised, that he realized he wasn't alone. Scorpius was on his knees beside him, shaking like a leaf. "Albus," he whispered. "Albus, stop it."

Albus looked at him with eyes that were stinging and raw. It was easy to see how much he'd frightened him. "I'm so sorry," he choked, whether to him or James he couldn't decide.

Scorpius looked down at Albus's hand with a pained expression. "What have you done?" He reached out to touch him, but at the last minute seemed to think better of it and drew away. "I'm sorry I hurt you," he said and looked up at him. "I'd never have showed you if I'd known how much."

Albus winced. The adrenaline was fading, and with it his body's natural pain-relief: the throbbing in his knuckles was agonizing, but oddly, a pleasant enough distraction from the guilt tearing through him. "It's not your fault," he bit out, covering his bloodied knuckles with his good hand—for some reason he didn't want Scorpius to have to see them. "It's mine. I just can't wrap my head around this, any of it." He bit his bottom lip and shook his head, trying desperately to stem the flow of new tears. "It seems like he died for nothing," he said. "And it doesn't matter what anyone says, I can't find meaning in it. It's like he was this ... this perfect person, who did all these wonderful things, made so many people happy. But he's gone now, and for what?"

Gingerly, Scorpius touched his shoulder. "I can't say I've got any answers," he admitted. "I don't know why. Things just ... happen. Maybe there is no meaning."

Albus almost laughed. Scorpius would never win any awards for his bedside manner, but Albus appreciated his candour all the same. Real honesty was in relatively short supply. "I've been looking for someone to blame for this for so long now," he went on, "and maybe this is it. Maybe there is more to it. But it doesn't matter, does it?" He gave a hollow laugh. "I still feel like it's my fault. I still feel like I killed him."

"I understand how you feel."

"No," said Albus, hanging his head so that his hair stuck damply to his face. "No, you don't. Don't even say that. You can't imagine what this feels like."

"Yes I can," Scorpius quietly argued. "I killed my mother."

Forgetting himself for a moment, Albus looked up. "What did you say?"

"I killed my mother," Scorpius repeated, in the tone of someone offering a spare quill. "I know how you feel."

Albus settled on his knees, facing him. "Why would you say something like that?" he queried, disturbed. Excited squeals and chatter echoed in the distance.

"Because it's true," said Scorpius. He settled on his knees, mirroring Albus's position, and placed his palms flat against his thighs. "I killed her."

"You can't just say things like that, Scorpius," Albus scolded him. "What are you on about? If you're trying to distract me, thanks. I think it's working."

"I'm not," said Scorpius. He blinked and pushed his glasses up over the narrow bridge of his nose. "I really did kill her. She died while she was having me."

Albus let out a low breath. "Scorpius—"

"Tell me again how I don't know what it feels like."

"This is a little bit different."

"No it's not," the boy argued.

"Yes," Albus countered, "it is. That's hardly your fault, is it?"

"Neither is your brother."

Staring at him, Albus did then the only thing that made sense. He hugged him. Scorpius made a muffled noise of surprise, and was stiff as a board as Albus enveloped him in his arms and held onto him tightly. They spent the next few moments in a warm, if not slightly uncomfortable, embrace.

Albus finally pulled away from him, embarrassed beyond words. "I think you're a lot smarter than people give you credit for," he sniffed, avoiding Scorpius's eyes. "Thank you."

Looking somewhat dazed, Scorpius gave a weak smile in return. Somehow Albus's blood had come to be smeared across his cheek.

At that moment the doors to the Great Hall burst open and a gaggle of excitable first-years flooded into the foyer, surrounding them.


	4. Bargaining

The month leading up to Christmas dragged like a rain that never ends. Albus threw himself into his studies with gusto, but otherwise ceased to live. The person he'd become no longer found enjoyment in anything. It was much like he'd been dismantled and reassembled, he thought, only none of the pieces fit together quite like they used to. He was a stranger in his own skin.

Odder still, the only person's company he could tolerably stomach was Scorpius Malfoy's. If someone had asked him about it a year ago he'd have laughed in their face: _Scorpius Malfoy? Weird kid with glasses, always looks like he needs a haircut? Ha!_ Irony was a cruel mistress.

Scorpius was like a walking advertisement for How Not To Be Cool; but Albus found he rather liked him that way. Granted, Scorpius wasn't always the easiest person to get along with: once he picked up steam it was virtually impossible to shut him up; he wore clothes at least a century out of date, knew nothing of Muggle entertainment, and was apparently unfamiliar with the concept of personal space—but he was kind and gentle, everything Albus couldn't admit he needed.

After several unsuccessful attempts to sleep-in on Saturday morning, he winded up dragging an amusingly giddy Scorpius with him down to Hogsmeade, and Albus strongly suspected this was the first time ever somebody had asked him. "Just wait here, alright?" he said to him as they entered Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, a franchise of the joke shop belonging to his Uncle George. "I won't be long." Leaving him amidst a group of fawning girls, fussing over the latest batch of baby Pygmy Puffs, Albus set off to find his uncle.

He found him out back, hiding in his cluttered office. "Al!" said Uncle George when he saw him, standing up from behind his desk. "What brings you down here? Come in, sit down!"

Feeling distinctly nervy, Albus took a seat opposite him. "Sorry I haven't been down in a while," he mumbled. "Things have been busy. You know; NEWT's and all." Clearing his throat, he searched for something else to say. "Anyway, how's Roxy?"

Uncle George scratched his bald-spot. "Good, good," he said. "Still has her heart set on becoming a Muggle-butcher."

"Doctor," Albus reminded him with a cough.

Uncle George laughed. "Right, right. Well, it all amounts to the same thing, eh? Anyhow, what can I do you for? You right for Skiving Snackboxes?"

Albus didn't laugh. "Actually," he said, "I wanted to talk to you about Fred."

Uncle George paled. A few moments passed and he pulled a handkerchief from his front pocket; he dabbed at his forehead, visibly discomfited. "I was waiting for that," he muttered.

This surprised Albus. "You were?"

"It was only a matter of time," said Uncle George. He pushed his chair closer to the desk, folding his hands in front of him. Taking a deep breath, he said, "I know you're looking for answers, Al. And I can't promise you're going to find them in me, but ... if you're ready to talk I'm all ears." Frowning, he added, "Well, figuratively speaking."

Albus managed a tight smile. "Thanks." He looked down at his lap, searching his mind. He'd had this visit planned for a long while; now he was here he didn't quite know what to say. Eventually he settled on: "How did you do it?"

"Do what, exactly?"

"Cope," said Albus, "after ... after Fred died."

Uncle George leaned back in his chair, resting the back of his head in his hands. "I didn't," he said simply.

"But you're still here," said Albus, nonplussed.

"Amazing, isn't it?"

Albus quietly agreed. "Look, I suppose what I mean is how did you move on, ever be happy again? I keep expecting to, I don't know, wake up one day and, bam, just like that, feel like I used to. Only I don't."

"That's never going to happen."

"But I—"

Uncle George held up a hand. "Hear me out," he said. "You're never going to feel like you used to, and whoever told you that was lying. You're going to carry James with you until the day you die; that part's unavoidable. You'll find a way to be happy again, of course you will, but nothing's ever going to be the same. He's gone, Al."

"I know that."

"But that doesn't mean the pain won't lessen over time."

Albus looked up. "It will?"

"Of course it will." Uncle George fixed him with a kind smile. "See, when Fred died I lost the plot," he admitted. "I didn't know who I was without him. We'd always been one person; never one without the other. No one ever said 'Fred' and not 'George'. I know you and your brother were a bit like that."

Albus buried a sharp stab of longing. "Yeah," he said quietly. "We were."

"What I'm trying to say is that, when he died I didn't even know how to start moving forward. I'd lost my twin. I didn't know what to do with myself, other than give myself over to the grief."

"And did you?"

"Course I did. In the beginning, at least. For months I couldn't think of anything else but the night he died; it replayed over and over in my mind: what I could have done differently, how I might save him if I had my time over. But it was pointless. Death is, by nature, absolute. I could either accept it and move on, or I could die too. Eventually, I started seeing things in a different light: Fred died a hero and I was proud of him. When he was gone, all I had left was his legacy, everything we'd worked so hard to build together." Uncle George gestured the shop. "If I'd done nothing with it I'd be dishonouring his memory, everything he would have wanted for me. And so I carried on. That's the choice you're faced with, Al: wallow in grief or ... carry on."

Albus was quiet a long while. He hadn't expected Uncle George to have all the answers; but how was it possible he felt worse? Wasn't there something else he could tell him, some wise revelation that'd flick a switch in his brain, induce that grand epiphany he so desired? "Fred died a hero," he said finally. "Knowing that must have made losing him easier to swallow." He hadn't imagined he'd feel so bitter.

Uncle George said nothing.

"But James," he went on. "He died for nothing."

"That's not true."

Anger hit him like the crack of the whip. "Then tell me!" Albus snapped, banging his hand against the desk so hard it shook. "Tell me what he died for!"

Uncle George looked sadder than Albus had ever seen him. It was an expression that didn't suit him. "Instead of searching for meaning in his death," he said, his tone subdued, "why don't you start remembering what he lived for? We both know there's meaning in that."

"I don't want to remember what he lived for," Albus said, his voice wavering. "It only makes me think about everything that was taken from him. I feel like, wherever he is, he must hate me. Why do I get to live and he doesn't? Why couldn't it have been my broom that failed and not his? He was the one with the future, not me." He swallowed a lump in his throat, and clenched and unclenched his fists. "I know Dad feels the same," he whispered. "He wishes it had have been me. James was his pride and joy; there's nothing I can do that'll measure up to even half of what he had going for him."

"No one believes that but you, Al," Uncle George pointed out.

Albus let out a hollow laugh. "Yes they do," he said. "Everyone's thinking it, but no one's saying it. Haven't you seen the papers? Read between the lines; the sentiment's there, believe me."

"And since when do you give a damn about the papers?"

Albus bit down on his lip. There were bloody half-moon crescents on the inside of his palms. He flattened them against his thighs and looked away. "If you could bring Fred back," he said quietly, "would you?"

"Of course I would," said Uncle George. He removed his glasses and rubbed the corners of his eyes. He looked tired, weary. "To bring Fred back," he said, "I'd sell my soul."

Angrier than he'd felt in months, Albus barged his way past the throng of chattering students to find Scorpius, who was engaged in conversation with a group of bright-eyed fourth-year girls, perusing the colorful Love Potion display. Albus took the boy by the elbow and steered him away from the girls. "Let's get out of here," he muttered to a bemused Scorpius, who waved and stammered a hasty goodbye to the girls. "Forget them; they're junk anyway; they don't even work."

They stepped out onto the street, where a rush of cool air greeted them.

"How do you know they don't work?" said Scorpius, turning to him as they passed Tomes and Scrolls.

Albus rolled his eyes. "My uncle owns the shop," he said. "Half the stuff in there is rubbish, I'm telling you."

"Oh." Scorpius looked mildly disappointed. "That's a shame, isn't it?"

"Not really," Albus answered him, distracted. He checked his watch. "Look, I need to buy some new shirts; what did you have planned for the rest of the day?"

Scorpius fiddled with the ends of his blue and bronze scarf. His hair was windswept, just brushing his shoulders, and his cheeks were pink, his glasses smudged. "I thought we were here together," he mumbled, his voice barely audible over the wind. "Do you want me to leave you alone?"

"What?" Albus sighed and put his hands on Scorpius's shoulders, feeling slightly guilty for having been so short with him. "I don't want you to leave me alone," he reassured the boy. "But if you have something better to do than shop for clothes with me, then that's alright too. You don't have to stick around if you'd rather be doing something else."

"But I don't," Scorpius was quick to tell him. "I want to be here with you." He gave Albus a slow smile. "And I don't mind tagging along," he added. "Really. You might need my opinion on something?"

At this Albus forced a smile and patted Scorpius's cheek. He highly doubted it.

The woman inside _Gladrags Wizardwear_ did a double-take when she saw him. Muttering a hasty aside to her co-worker, she ducked out from behind the counter and smoothed her robes, pasting on a simpering smile. "Mister Potter," she said, opening her arms wide. "What a delightful surprise!"

"Er, hi," he replied, smiling tightly. He took Scorpius by the elbow and led him over to the section marked 'Muggle-wear', bypassing her completely. Her smile quickly turned to a frown; she slunk back to her counter and resigned to watch the pair of them intently.

The Muggle clothes seemed to amuse Scorpius greatly. His eyes lit up when he saw the jeans; he flipped through the racks with zest, saddling down his arms with as many items as he could feasibly carry.

Albus watched him with thinly-veiled amusement. "What are you doing?" he asked with a reluctant laugh. "You gonna try those on or what?"

Scorpius shrugged. "Maybe," he said, nudging up his glasses. "I've always wondered what it'd be like to dress in Muggle clothes." He looked sheepish.

Albus picked a few plain shirts from a rack and smiled at him. "Well come on, then," he said. "There's no time like the present." He dragged Scorpius into a change-room with him and drew the curtain. Pulling his shirt over his head, he hung it on a hook and turned to him, holding up two shirts: one red, one blue. "Which?"

Clutching his items with both arms, Scorpius pressed himself into a corner. Clearing his throat, he said, "Er, the blue."

"Really?" Albus had never thought blue was his color. Shrugging, he pulled the shirt over his head and looked in the mirror, appraising his reflection with apathy, before turning back to Scorpius. "What do you think?"

Scorpius looked as if he'd come down with a bad rash: his skin was red and blotchy. "It's ... nice," he stammered. "Listen, I think I'll just go in the other change-room," he said, gesturing with his thumb. "It's a little snug in here."

Frowning, Albus caught him by the hem of his shirt and yanked him back inside. "What the hell are you doing?" he exclaimed. "You can change in here, you twit. Don't even think about leaving me here by myself; you saw that woman when we came in; give her half a chance and she'll be in here with her hands all over me. How would you feel then?"

Scorpius gave a weak smile. "Sorry?"

Albus narrowed his eyes. "Damn right you'll be sorry." He sighed and peeled the blue shirt off; he'd been right—blue wasn't his color. "Are you going to try any of those on or are you just going to stand there? I'm a busy man, Scorpius," he said airily. "I've got to get to the library before close; there's some things I need to research, so hurry up."

"Oh." Carefully, Scorpius set down his clothes on the bench. His hands went to the hem of his shirt, where he hesitated, looking at his shoes. "I can't," he whispered.

"Can't what," Albus muttered, studying the red shirt's label.

"I can't take my shirt off in front of anyone."

Having now successfully caught his attention, Albus turned to him with a bored look. "And why's that, Scorpius?" His apathy was slowly giving rise to frustration. The last thing he needed right now was a Scorpius-related melodrama. His patience only stretched so far, and with the furthest corners of his mind already full to bursting point, he simply didn't have time for it.

"Bad case of Spattergroit," Scorpius blurted. He punctuated this with a weak smile and shrug.

Albus looked at him, amazed. "Spattergroit?" he echoed. "On your chest?"

Scorpius nodded, very unconvincingly.

Albus shook his head and sighed. "If you're going to lie to me," he advised, pulling on the red shirt, "you might at least make an effort. That was pitiful, mate." He inspected his reflection in the mirror, resolving to purchase the red, and to play it safe, a black. He peeled off the shirt and caught Scorpius's reflection in the mirror: the blond boy was chewing his fingernails, and very pointedly not looking at him. "What's your problem, anyway?" he asked indifferently. "You're so weird sometimes, Scorpius Malfoy. Honestly, it's no wonder you've got no—" Albus stopped here, mortified with himself. "I didn't mean that," he said quickly. "Scorpius—"

Scorpius wore an empty smile. "It's okay," he said, voice catching in his throat. "You're right, anyway." He studied his hands for a long moment, the smile fading from his lips. "Listen, I need to get to the post office before it shuts; there's, er, something I have to do. I'll just—"

Albus grabbed the other boy by his upper-arms before he had the chance to scurry away. "No; don't do that," he whispered, holding him steady. He took a deep breath. "Look, I ... I know I'm being a dick, I've just ... I've got a lot on my mind, alright? It's not you, it's me." He cringed after he'd said this. Clichéd one-liners had never been his forte. Shaking his head, he added, "I'm no good at any of this, okay? There's a reason no one talks to me anymore—they can't stand being around me for more than ten minutes. I'm a wet-blanket; I ruin everyone's good mood. Honestly, I don't even know why you put up with me."

"I _like you_ ," Scorpius protested.

There was a long silence.

"Well, I like you too," Albus replied.

"You do?" Scorpius asked, obviously trying to suppress a hopeful smile.

"Of course I do. I like you a lot." Albus's heart pounded. He looked at Scorpius—really looked at him—and forced himself to acknowledge several things at once. Letting it all wash over him, he made a face. _Oh, for goodness' sake_ , he admonished himself. _Scorpius is gayer than a hat full of rainbows—don't stand there and pretend like you didn't notice!_

It was true and he knew it.

 _I like you, I like you, I like you_ , echoed over and over in his head. All the signs pointed to the fact that Scorpius was queer, always had been, and had likely nursed a crush on Albus since day one—it helped explain a lot of things, actually: his willingness to help him investigate James's accident, for a start. Why Albus had insisted on looking the other way about it was a mystery to him. Had he really been so desperate to use him?

Sighing, he placed his fingers beneath Scorpius's chin and forced the boy to look him in the eye. "Is there something you want to say to me?"

Scorpius cringed and shook his head. "Nope," he bit out.

"If there is, then now's your chance," Albus pressed, unconvinced. "Well?" He removed Scorpius's glasses and set them down carefully on the pile of clothes—the boy looked open, vulnerable, without them—and waited patiently for him to speak.

Scorpius opened and closed his mouth. "I ... I can't think of anything," he stammered, sounding strained, "but if I do I'll let you know."

Albus groaned aloud in frustration, and on impulse did the first thing that came to mind: He kissed him. Later he'd tell himself it wasn't taking advantage of a situation, but a justifiable experiment. Now it seemed as natural as any other kiss he'd ever had. And it didn't make a lick of difference that Scorpius was a boy. This wasn't the time to be having a sexual-identity crisis, and if he was honest with himself he really didn't care. It had been a long time between intimacies of any kind, and right now if it felt good—he wanted it.

Scorpius's mouth was warm and pliant, his bottom lip as soft and pillowy as Albus had imagined it would be. The other boy tasted like Pepper Imps and coconut, and Albus pressed hard against him, bracing both hands on the wall either side of his head, kissing him like he hadn't kissed in months.

Scorpius's body remained frozen, but he rested a tentative hand on Albus's cheek, inexpertly moving his lips against his, and Albus wondered then whether perhaps this was his first kiss. Knowing Scorpius as he did, it seemed more than likely. Oddly excited by the thought, Albus wound an arm around Scorpius's waist and jerked him hard against him, eliciting a surprised yelp that went straight to Albus's cock—unsurprising, considering how long it had been since it'd last seen action. Right now it was overjoyed at the prospect of getting off in a Hogsmeade change-room (even if it was with Scorpius Malfoy, of all people) and Albus buoyantly agreed, thinking it sounded like a splendid idea—better than his own hand, at any rate.

Scorpius wound his arms around Albus's neck, apparently starting to enjoy himself, and Albus's hands flew to his own trousers, fumbling with the zipper. Lips still firmly attached to Scorpius's, he thrust a hand inside his pants, roughly stroking himself, before he grabbed one of Scorpius's wrists and forced his hand down his trousers.

The first touch of skin on skin was heaven. Albus let out a muffled groan and Scorpius wrenched his mouth away with a cry, looking down between them. Breathing hard, he withdrew his hand as though bitten, his expression mortified.

"I'm sorry," Albus said without really meaning it, fighting to catch his breath. "I didn't mean to ... you know. Look, are you alright?"

White-faced and trembling, Scorpius looked at him like he didn't know him, and aiming a firm push at his shoulders, ripped open the curtain and fled from the change-room.

"Damn it," Albus hissed. "Scorpius!" he yelled, trying to untangle himself from the curtain. "Just ... oh, fuck!" He banged the side of his fist against the stall door. "Scorpius!"

He heard the bell over the front door of the shop jingle as it slammed shut and knew that the boy was gone.

The shopkeeper chose that inopportune moment to round the corner. When she saw Albus standing there with his zipper down and ... well, equipment exposed, she uttered a hoarse cry and covered her eyes as though blinded. "Mister Potter!" she said shrilly. "Close your trousers, for heavens' sake!"

Albus tugged his pants and trousers over his hips, and grabbing his t-shirt, hurried past her, cheeks burning with shame. He could see the Evening Prophet's headline now: _Harry Potter's Son Caught With Pants Down – Literally!_

He stumbled out into the street, fuming, and took off at a run.

He spent the remainder of that evening locked in bitter conflict with himself. After library hours were over, he sat on the floor of the Restricted Section, the stones chilling his skin through his clothes, and scanned the musty old books by light of his wand, slamming down each one that was useless to him with mounting frustration. The pile beside him grew steadily higher.

Muttering to himself, he alternated between calling himself a 'pervert' and 'arsehole' as he worked, curious as to whether this was what it felt like to go mad. Although he had more pressing concerns at hand, he couldn't stop thinking about Scorpius—and torturing himself with guilt in the process. As if he hadn't enough of that already.

But he knew the old Albus would never have done something so crude and hurtful as what he'd done to Scorpius in the change-room, and this realization fouled his mood more than perhaps anything else. If he'd stolen some poor boy's innocence in the heat of the moment, desperate and selfish and seeking his own gratification, how would he ever live with himself? What had Scorpius done to deserve such thoughtlessness?

He slammed what felt like the millionth tome shut, and hauled himself to his feet, scanning the final shelf. He raised his wand and swept the light over the dusty books; titles jumped out at him at random: _Liber Mortis, Morte Sublato, Anima Insomnem, Necronomicon..._

 _Necronomicon._ The word tugged at him.

Licking dry lips, he reached for it; the tome was so heavy it required both hands to lift. He dragged it off the shelf, grunting, and fell back to the floor, arranging it between his legs. His heart pounding in his throat, he touched his fingertips to the books' worn leather cover: it rippled with dark magic; stank of it. Runes were carved into the surface of the leather, most of which he didn't recognize, and in the centre was an intricate, yet faded, illustration of a cypress tree. Embedded in the centre of the trunk was a blue-glass eye. He caught his own reflection in it and shuddered.

Swallowing down his ill-ease, Albus opened the book and skimmed the table of contents; he understood nothing; everything was in Latin. Raising his wand over the book, he closed his eyes and muttered a quick Translation charm; opening them, he watched as the text swirled like smoke and reformed, slowly becoming legible to his gaze. He scanned the chapter titles until something caught his eye: _The Exchange of Life, pg. 597_

He flipped through the book until he found it. When he did, the illustration on the opposite page sprang out at him: a pit full of countless bodies, writhing and straining for the surface, their arms outstretched, faces contorted in agony. A winged demon with the body of a man and the face of monster reigned over them, a scythe in his hands, forcing them back into the pit, a look of menace on his face. Albus knew exactly what he was looking at. Hades.

A sick feeling washed over him, and he was unable to look at the drawing a second longer. It was too vivid; so tangible he could almost hear their screams, his brother's own cries and pleas for help, calling his name, begging him not to desert him. _I'll never desert you_ , Albus thought fervidly, hoping that somehow, somewhere, James could hear him. _I'll never give up on you, not ever. I can still fix this. I'll never stop trying, even if it kills me. I'd rather be there with you than here alone._

He scanned the small amount of text preceding the Casting instructions in Latin first.

 **_Commutatio Vitae_ **

_Desiderat feriretis foedus cum daemone. Eorum animam taum._

Taking a deep breath, he tapped the text with his wand and watched the words rearrange themselves in English. When he finally understood what he was reading, everything fell into place and a strange sort of peace washed over him. This is it, he thought: the answer.

 **_The Exchange of Life_ **

_Requires one to make a pact with a demon. Your soul for theirs._

Albus read the text over and over, marvelling at its simplicity. It was rather straightforward, he thought; something he could easily understand. _The Exchange of Life_ was a bargain of sorts; a trade. _His life for James's._ He knew then what he had to do, and was certain he could muster the power to do it. Once he'd made his own peace, said goodbye, tied up every loose end that tethered him to the world—he'd make the deal: James would get a second chance.

Albus tore the page out of the book without another thought, uncaring that he was damaging a valuable item of school property, and folded it, stowing it away inside his shirt and close to his heart. He felt oddly calm; not at all afraid. Making sure everything around him looked just the way he'd found it, he left the Restricted Section, and the library, behind him.


	5. Depression

The next day, Albus made mending things with Scorpius a priority. He hung about outside the Ancient Runes classroom for forty-five minutes during his free, doing his very best Desperate Stalker impression. But the second Scorpius exited the classroom and saw Albus he flushed a deep shade of crimson, stammered something inaudible, and spun on his heel, hurrying off in the opposite direction—so flustered the fact he'd dropped half his notes somehow managed to escape his attention.

Albus leapt away from the wall, hastily gathered up the other boy's abandoned squares of parchment, and hurried off after him. "Scorpius!" he yelled, causing more than a few heads to turn. "Scorpius, wait up! I just want to talk to you!"

But Scorpius made no effort to slow down, and was apparently determined to pretend he hadn't heard him. Albus scowled; the little prick was flighty when he wanted to be. Why couldn't anything ever turn out the way he'd bloody planned it?

Growing increasingly agitated, Albus followed his estranged friend all the way down to the fifth floor, weaving his way through the bustling crowds of students, and caught up to him just as he rounded a corner and began to climb the narrow, tightly-spiralled staircase that led to Ravenclaw Tower.

Albus stopped at the foot of the stairs, tapping his boot against the stone. "Right here, Scorpius," he announced.

Slowly, Scorpius turned around, breathing heavily, a miserable look on his face. He held his books tightly to his chest and looked down at his shoes. "Hello, Albus," he mumbled.

Albus took a deep breath. Looking at the other boy caused every ounce of his guilt to resurface, and it overwhelmed him all it once. "I owe you an apology," he began. "I did the wrong thing yesterday, and I wanted to tell you I was sorry. I mean it."

Scorpius looked as though he'd rather be anywhere else in the world. "It's alright, Albus," he said.

"Will you please stop calling me by my name like that?" said Albus, trying to keep his tone level. "And look at me when I'm talking to you; I'm trying to tell you something here."

Scorpius jerked his head up. "Sorry."

"Just forget it," Albus muttered. "Look, I'm sorry for what happened yesterday; in the shop." He looked the other boy straight in the eye. He was trying to be a man about this, but doing so was suddenly quite the challenge. "You deserved better than that, okay? And I'm sorry, I really am. It was my fault, yeah? I was being an idiot, I wasn't even thinking, I just ... I got so caught up in the moment I forgot who I was. I know it's not a decent excuse, but there it is. It's pathetic, but there's nothing more I can say to you. I'm sorry."

He climbed the first couple of stairs to meet Scorpius, who stood there immobile. "Here," he said, proffering the other boy's notes notes. "You dropped these." He searched Scorpius's face for a response. "You okay?"

Scorpius met his eyes, a distant expression on his face. "I don't know," he admitted.

Albus felt another stab of guilt. "What can I do to make it up to you?" he said. "Come on, I'll do anything."

"It's not you," Scorpius said with a frown. "I'm not upset with you. It's me; I'm just ... I'm stupid. Dad always said I had my head in the clouds. I suppose he was right."

"What are you talking about?" Albus asked him, confused.

"I used to imagine it a lot, you know? What it'd be like the first time it happened."

"First time what happened?"

"First time someone kissed me," Scorpius said reluctantly, looking away. "I thought it'd be different is all. You know ... softer or something. It took me by surprise, that's all."

"Oh, Scorpius..." Albus had never heard anything sadder, or felt more ashamed. "You're not stupid, okay? It is supposed to be softer; it's supposed to be special and nice and ... all of those things. Look, I'm sorry I took that away from you. You deserve to have a better friend than me and—" He stopped here and hung his head. "I'm sorry you don't. It isn't fair."

"I have a friend," Scorpius said sagely, "and he's as good as any. You."

 _Yeah, a friend who's only your friend when it suits him; when he wants something..._

"I'm not your friend," Albus informed him, disgusted with himself. Scorpius's eyes flashed with hurt.

"Lose him, Scorpius," said a female voice from behind them. "Trust me, it's not worth the heartache. Like all men, he'll never change. He doesn't know a good thing when he's got it."

Albus whirled around, startled. The entrance behind him was congested with fourth-year Ravenclaws, waiting to access their common-room. The girl heading the group, a small blonde with a heart-shaped face, raised an eyebrow when he looked at her, folding her arms across her chest.

Outraged at being interrupted, he snapped, "Do you lot mind pissing off? This is a private conversation, yeah? Move it along!"

"Well," the blonde said coldly, "we would but you're blocking the way, see. If you don't want anyone listening perhaps you should move it somewhere more private. Save Scorpius the embarrassment, at the very least. Wanker."

Albus made a rude gesture at her and turned back to Scorpius, only to find that he'd gone. "Damn it!" He raced up the staircase as fast as his legs could carry him. "Scorpius!"

The slender boy was standing outside the door to the common-room, his back to him. Breathing heavily, Albus approached him and laid a hand on his shoulder. "Can I come in?" he asked breathlessly. "I know I mustn't be your favorite person right now, but what I said about not being your friend—I swear I didn't mean it like that. What I meant to say was that I don't deserve to be." He heard the girls stomping up the stairs behind him. "Look, just let me in, okay? We need to talk. In private."

Scorpius hung his head. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at the eagle-shaped bronze knocker fixed to the door. It opened its beak and said, "What is the nature of time?"

Albus looked from the eagle to Scorpius, bemused. "Well," he said with a nervous laugh, "don't ask me. I'm dumber than a sack full of hammers." His weak attempt to inject humor into the moment failed: Scorpius did not laugh, and seemed absorbed in a thoughtful silence. Finally, he said, "If nothing passed away, there would not be past time; and if nothing were coming, there would not be future time; and if nothing were, there would not be present time. Those two times, therefore, past and future, how are they, when even the past now is not; and the future is not as yet? But should the present be always present, and should it not pass into time past, time truly it could not be, but eternity."

Albus stood there, slack-jawed, as the door swung open. He hadn't a clue what had just happened, or a word Scorpius had said.

Scorpius threw Albus a wary look over his shoulder. His skin was very pink. "Come on," he said with a sigh, holding the door open, "we can talk in my dorm. Most of the boys are still at Charms Club." Albus hurried through after him before Scorpius had the chance to change his mind.

The Ravenclaw common-room was wide and circular, carpeted in midnight-blue. A breeze swept through the large space, causing the bronze and blue silk hangings to sway on the walls. Overhead was a luminous domed ceiling, painted with moving stars and planets. The arched windows streamed afternoon sunlight over the bookcases and tables, and provided a spectacular view of the surrounding mountains. Albus was left feeling slightly jealous of the Ravenclaws.

He followed Scorpius over to the entrance leading to the dormitories, casting a quick glance at the gleaming life-size marble statue of Rowena Ravenclaw, wearing her diadem. He thought then of his father, of the famed Battle of Hogwarts, and quickly moved on.

Scorpius's corner of the dorm was so unlike Albus's own that it stunned him: it was colorful and vibrant, cluttered with various keepsakes and personal effects. Beside the bed were framed photographs of himself and his father at various times and places, always with their arms around each other, just the two of them. It was rather striking how dissimilar they were upon closer examination: Where Draco was all angles and sharpness, his features somewhat severe, Scorpius had a softer look about him, a warmth in his eyes and smile that his father didn't share. Whoever Scorpius's mother had been, Albus felt certain she'd left her mark on him.

But looking at the pictures—each as happy as the next—the love between father and son was obvious, tangible. Albus felt guilty for ever having questioned it. It was sad rather than strange that all Scorpius had in his life was his father, and his anguish over having harmed this boy tripled.

He sat down on the edge of Scorpius's bed and folded his hands in his lap. "Do you want to talk about what happened?" he blurted. "It's just that I know you're probably confused and angry—and you're allowed to be—so if there's something you need to say to me, say it. That's how these things work, alright? You yell at me, I say I'm sorry, you call me names and I let you—blah-blah-blah—until we're all friends again. Sound like a plan?"

"I don't want to yell at you," Scorpius said quietly, sitting down beside him.

Albus bit down hard on his bottom-lip, nervous at their sudden proximity. "What do you want, then?"

"I want you to be my friend."

"I _am_ your friend."

"Maybe," said Scorpius. "But you don't want to be."

Albus turned to him. "That's not true," he argued. "I do want to be your friend. You're probably the kindest person I've ever met, and you've been better to me than I've deserved. It's just that the timing's all wrong—I'm not going to be around long enough to be much of a friend to you, alright? It'd be sort of redundant to start now."

"What are you talking about?" Scorpius took his glasses off and set them down on the duvet. He looked at Albus, confused; the light streaming through the window illuminated the flecks of gold in his irises. "Why won't you be around? Where are you going?"

Albus sighed and delved a hand inside pocket. "I found something last night," he admitted. He handed Scorpius the page he'd torn and stolen from the _Necronomicon_. "I've figured out a way to help my brother. And don't get me wrong, I appreciate everything you've done to try and help me and my family, but ... it won't bring James back, will it? Going after the people who did this isn't going to achieve anything but a fortune in legal bills. But I think I've found something that will help. Can you understand what it says?"

Scorpius had put his glasses back on, and was now scanning the page with a troubled expression. " _Commutatio Vitae_ ," he muttered. " _The Exchange of Life_." He looked sharply at Albus. "Do you have any idea what this means?"

"Yeah," said Albus. "My life for his."

"You want to trade your life for your brother's?"

Albus nodded. "His soul in my body," he said. "Or something like that. Look, the point is, I can bring him back. I can fix this."

"Yes, at the cost of your own life!" Scorpius snapped. He looked angrier than Albus had ever seen him. "Have you gone mad?"

Suddenly defensive, Albus snatched the page from him. "I know it sounds mental, but it's the only way!" he yelled. "And I thought you'd understand; I thought I could trust you!"

"You can!" Scorpius yelled back. "But I won't let you hurt yourself, Albus! You've got no idea the type of magic you're dealing with. This is dark," he told him. "Very dark. You know nothing about this ritual—you know nothing about necromancy! What makes you think you could pull something like this off?"

"Because I want it," Albus said quietly.

Scorpius gave him a reproachful look and got to his feet. Standing by the window, he folded his arms across his chest, his back to Albus, and said, "There's a lot of things that I want too, but that doesn't mean I can have them. What happened to your brother was tragic, it truly was, but there's a natural order to things. When you put them out of balance the consequences are unpredictable. You've got no idea what the repercussions might be."

Albus glared at the back of his head. "If you're trying to tell me that everything happens for a reason," he said through gritted teeth, "you can save your breath because I've heard it all before. There was no reason to this—it was never meant to happen. All I'll be doing is putting things back the way they're supposed to be. I owe it to James and I owe it to my family."

Scorpius whirled around and glowered at him. "And how do you know he wasn't supposed to die?" he shouted, and Albus was temporarily taken aback. He had never seen the other boy look quite so impassioned. "What about my mother? Was she supposed to die, at twenty-four? Am I wrong for not trying to raise her from the dead? And you're doing this for your family, are you? So what, they get your brother back but lose you instead? That doesn't make any sense!"

"And as usual, neither do you!"

"You'll never get your brother back," Scorpius whispered, as though he truly would have liked to tell him otherwise. "It's not fair, but it's the way things are. Even if you could work the ritual, which I'm not convinced you could, it wouldn't be James you brought back. There's a reason that book's in the Restricted Section, Albus. It's dark magic. Necromancy is a black art, practiced by only the darkest wizards—you know that yourself. The thing you bring back will be something else, something dark and unnatural. The real James—the brother you knew?—he's gone somewhere you'll never be able to reach him. If it was as easy as you think, the whole world would be overrun with the dead; everyone who's ever lost someone they love would want to do the same."

Albus knew it was true, all of it, but he didn't want to hear another word. "You don't know anything," he snarled. He closed the distance between himself and Scorpius and stood over him. The other boy's eyes widened but he said nothing. "And this," Albus said, gesturing between them, "was a mistake. I never should have let you suck me in like this. The last thing I need is someone else telling me what to think."

"Then go," Scorpius said in a quivering voice, nodding to the door. "I won't stand in your way."

Furious, Albus grabbed him and kissed him. Blood pounded through his veins and rang in his ears. There was no experiment now; no excuse: He was kissing Scorpius because he wanted to. He knew if he tried to tell himself otherwise it'd be a lie. As difficult as it was considering the circumstance, he put everything he had into being gentle, and giving Scorpius the kiss he should have had the first time around. But it was difficult to show restraint. He was angry, and also fairly sure by this stage that he wanted the other boy. _Really_ wanted him. Anger and desire was an unpleasant combination, he decided.

Trying not to give in to the temptation to grab or bite, he played it safe and put his hand on the back of Scorpius's neck to pull him closer. Scorpius gave a quiet little whimper, and Albus started when he noticed that the skin beneath his palm was not smooth and soft as he'd imagined, but rather the thick, bumpy texture of scar tissue.

He wrenched his mouth away and stared at Scorpius, chest heaving. "What happened to you?"

Scorpius's eyes were closed, his lips wet. "Disappointed I'm not as perfect as you are?" he whispered.

"What is that supposed to mean? Scorpius—what gave you that scar?" Albus demanded. Something told him he didn't want to hear the answer.

Flushed and trembling, Scorpius turned away from him. "After my mother died," he began in an unsteady voice, "my father went mad with grief. He'd already lost everything, and my mother—all he had left in the world—was the final straw. He flew into a rage, destroyed everything they owned; all that reminded him of her." He paused for a long moment. "He set the nursery on fire," he said dully. "My grandfather managed to rescue me before it killed me too, but by then it was too late." He turned around and looked at Albus. "The scars are still there, all over my back."

Horrified, Albus looked at the picture-frames adorning Scorpius's mantel and bedside table for the second time that day. Now, they took on an entirely new meaning. "But you love him," he said, disbelieving. "He tried to kill you when you were a baby, but ... you still love him."

"Of course I do. He's my father," was all Scorpius said.

Feeling slightly dizzy, Albus backed away from him and all but collapsed against the bed. "That's why you didn't want to take your shirt off in the change-room yesterday. You didn't want me to see you," he croaked.

"I was embarrassed."

"You think I'd judge you for something like that?"

Scorpius gave a small shrug. "Most people are averse to what they don't understand." He sat down beside Albus. "I've been driving people away my whole life. I didn't want you to be next, that's all."

"But I'm not most people," said Albus. "I don't know what you think you know about me, but I wasn't raised that way."

Gingerly, Scorpius placed a hand over his. "I know."

Albus looked down at their hands; his skin looked almost brown by comparison with Scorpius's, whose own was so pale and transparent that each blue vein beneath the surface was visible. "I'm sorry I kissed you again," he choked, unable to tear his eyes away from their hands.

"I'm not." Scorpius pushed his fingers through Albus's and squeezed his hand. After a while, he said, "You know you can't do this, Albus. You can't even try. All you'll do is hurt everyone in the world you love, who loves you."

Albus squeezed his eyes shut. They were stinging with tears. "But he's my brother. I owe it to him," he said, his voice breaking.

"Honor his memory with the way you live your life," Scorpius said softly. "Don't you think that's what he would have wanted for you?"

Albus held on to Scorpius's hand so hard he was surely hurting him. Grief hit him like a moving train the moment he understood that James was truly gone, and that nothing—nothing—was ever going to bring him back.

Silent, Scorpius eased the torn page from under Albus's arm and hid it inside his own robes, holding steadfastly to his hand as he cried. Neither of them moved until the sun finally began to set behind the mountains.


	6. Acceptance

The day before Christmas break, Hogwarts found itself blanketed by a thick layer of snow. It had been several days since Albus had last been alone with Scorpius, and even though their every interaction was now colored with embarrassment—on both sides, he was sure—a tentative understanding had sprung up between them; unsurprising, Albus supposed, considering how much they'd shared.

On the way back to the castle from the greenhouses, he hurried to catch up with Scorpius, who all day had been avoiding him like the plague. "Scorpius!" he yelled, uncaring who heard him. He grunted as he waded through thick snow, his socks and shoes freezing and wet. "Scorpius, wait up!"

Finally Scorpius stopped and turned around, and upon seeing Albus offered a shy smile and wave. Albus hurried toward him, brushing flakes of snow from his eyelashes with numb fingers. "Hey," he said as he approached him, breathless. "I've been trying to get you alone all day; what's up?" He took the other boy by the elbow and steered him away from the scattered clomps of students making their way back to the castle. "Are you avoiding me or something?" he added, lowering his voice.

Scorpius had the audacity to laugh at him. "No, of course not; I've been busy, that's all. I'm trying to get as much homework together as I can before break," he said seriously. "NEWTs aren't all that far off in the scheme of things; I can't afford to get behind. But what about you; have you got plans?"

Albus took a deep breath. "That's what I wanted to talk to you about, actually." He licked his lips, which were cracked and dry from the cold, and blurted, "I want to go after Mendelssohn Industries."

Scorpius smiled, and his eyes lit up. Albus wondered then why he'd never before noticed just how beautiful it made him. "Really? Oh, Albus, that's brilliant!"

"I'm going to visit some of the other families over break; see what else I can found out. I don't want to do this half-arsed, you know? It's all the way or not at all."

"Yes, of course," Scorpius said. "I agree, one-hundred percent."

Albus grabbed the boy's cold hand and looked at him intently. "I want you to come with me."

"What?" Scorpius gave a nervous laugh. "Albus, you can't be serious."

"I am," Albus insisted. "I'm completely serious. I want—no, I need—you to come with me. Come on, Scorp, please. I can't do this without you."

Scorpius's smile faded, like a dying ember. "I can't," he said. "I'm sorry, Albus, I just ... I can't."

"And why not?" Albus demanded, feeling angry and rejected all at once. He'd been sure Scorpius would jump into his arms when he said this, entirely devoted, and never let him go, but Scorpius only sighed and looked away from him. "I can't just drop everything and go gallivanting about the countryside with you. My father would never allow it for a start," he pointed out.

"You're old enough to make your own decisions," Albus argued. "He can't stop you; you're seventeen!"

"Well, what about you?" Scorpius huffed. "What does your family say about you taking off on your own to play detective?"

"They know," Albus told him honestly. "They don't like it, but they know. And there's nothing they can do to stop me. I'm going to do this, and I'm going to see it through to the end. But I want you to be there," he added, stopping just short of begging. "I don't want to do this alone."

"Why me, though?" Scorpius implored of him. There were snowflakes caught in his eyelashes, the tangles of his hair. "Why not your sister?"

"Because," said Albus, stepping forward, "I want _you_." He took Scorpius's face between his hands and gave him a brief kiss on the lips before he lost his nerve. "Please don't make me do this by myself," he whispered and drew away. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Scorpius's.

Scorpius sucked in a sharp breath. "Okay," he bit out. "Okay, I'll come with you."

Albus opened one eye, disbelieving. "You will?"

Scorpius nodded, a pained look on his face. "I will."

Elated, Albus grabbed the other boy's shoulders and crushed him to his chest. "I knew you wouldn't let me down," he breathed. "And I'm going to look after you, I promise. You can tell your father that."

"He's going to kill me," Scorpius mumbled, his voice muffled against Albus's shoulder. "I don't think it matters."

Albus held tight to him, marvelling at how perfectly he fit inside his arms, how warm he was against him. "It matters to me," he said. " _You_ matter."

They parted, both flushed with excitement, and each fought to hold the other's gaze. Albus smiled. "Are you sure you want to do this?" he said finally, happiness building inside him.

"I'm sure," Scorpius assured him, smiling. "I know what I want."

"Even if I don't always treat you right?" Albus asked, needing to ensure Scorpius understood all the risks involved in being around him. "Even if I make mistakes?"

"I know you'll try. That's enough for me."

Albus took the other boy's hands and pulled him forward. Closing his eyes, he waited for Scorpius to make the first move. When all he received was a soft brush of lips on the cheek, he smiled. "We can work on that," he said with the ghost of a smirk, and threw an arm over Scorpius's shoulders.

They made their way back to the castle together, the blizzard swirling all around them like floating dancers. Try as he might, Albus couldn't suppress his smile. For the first time in months, it felt as though he'd found something rather than lost it.

 _~Finis~_


End file.
